


A Light to Guide Me Home

by kristen999



Series: To Hell and Back (And Back Again) [2]
Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Episode: s08e24 Ka Lala Kaukonakona Haki 'Ole I Ka Pa A Ka Makani Kona
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-20
Updated: 2018-10-20
Packaged: 2019-08-05 01:12:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16357775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kristen999/pseuds/kristen999
Summary: Steve returns home after rescuing Joe White. But his time in Nigeria has ramifications for him and Danny as they are pulled into deadly situation with little time to survive. Spoilers for 8.24.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> This three times longer than I expected. I hope you enjoy it :)
> 
> This is a standalone story. It is set in the same timeline as the To Hell and Back (And Back Again) series. The other fic in that series is set pre-canon. If you’d like to read about Steve in SEAL training than you might want to give it a whirl. You don't need to read it to follow this.
> 
> Thank you to my beta reader Gaelicspirit for their crit and suggestions.

***  
**2018**

Steve pulled into his driveway. Resting his head against the steering wheel, he tried mustering the energy to finish the last part of his journey. He’d been in too many time-zones in too few days.

After the mission to rescue Joe, he and Junior had returned to Camp Lemonnier for multiple debriefings. Then there was a flight from the Horn of Africa to Germany where Joe had been transferred to a military hospital. Once Joe was well enough, he’d be questioned at length about his time in captivity to help with current operations.

Once he was finished in Germany, Steve caught a lift between Rammstein and Pearl Hickman for another round of debriefings. It would be nice to change into a t-shirt and jeans after wearing fatigues. And get some down time. 

Junior decided to visit his mom. It’d been an emotional ordeal for them all. 

Killing the engine, Steve noticed the Camaro in the driveway. It was late. But he and Danny had texted throughout the mission. Steve had kept him in the loop about returning. 

It was weird to admit, but it felt good having someone keep tabs on him. Waiting. Promising a home cooked meal after a week of MREs. 

Forcing himself out of his truck, Steve grimaced as the tender muscle across his upper ribs stretched. He rubbed at the area where his vest had stopped a bullet. Another close call. 

Grabbing his duffle from the passenger seat, he stood outside breathing in the warm night air.

Looking up, Steve gazed at the night sky. He spotted the familiar four-star, kite-shaped constellation he and his father would search for when they went rock climbing. _Hanaiakamalama_.

_“You know, son, Hawaii is the only place in the U.S you can view these.”_ His father had smiled at him. _“It’s special.”_

Taking a shuddering breath, Steve looked from the sky to his house, to the Camaro. Swallowing, he shook his head, too exhausted to think and dissect the confusing things inside his head. 

He wiped at his burning eyes and forced himself onto the porch. Punching the code to his alarm, Steve opened the door and walked inside.

“That’s far enough,” a voice called out.

Steve froze. 

Two men walked out from Steve’s dining room and pointed M4’s at him. A third man came down the stairs. 

Steve spotted Danny sitting in his loveseat. A fourth person stood guard over him, the barrel of his weapon aimed at Danny’s head.

Danny looked at Steve with his lips pursed, his whole body coiled in tension. “I’m sorry. They were waiting when I arrived.”

Steve studied Danny, other than being pissed off, he didn’t look injured. _Thank God_. Steve nodded at him, letting Danny know there was no need for apologies before he glanced over at the intruders. “What do you want?”

One of the men from the dining room gestured at Steve with his weapon. He must be in charge, Steve surmised. 

“Drop the duffel and put your hands in the air.”

“That’s my line.” But Steve lowered his stuff and raised his hands. “All right. Now, let him go.”

Danny rolled his eyes. “Yeah, no.”

The lead gunman shook his head. “No, we’ll all going for a ride.”

Steve studied the intruders. They were all well-built and dressed in black BDUs. The leader was in his late 40’s with a crew cut. He had a large, misshaped nose that looked like it’d been broken a few times. 

They screamed _professionals._ Steve knew he couldn’t give them more of an advantage by relocating him and Danny. He had to stall. “You’ll get more cooperation by telling me what this is all about.”

“Joe White,” the Leader said.

“What does this have to do with Joe?” Danny asked. He was giving Steve time to think, to strategize a plan.

Steve was unarmed; his SIG was in his duffel. Danny usually left his weapon in the lock box of his car. That left hand-to-hand verses four armed men. Not great odds, but he and Danny had gone up against worse.

“Joe White has information we need.”

Steve spotted a ball point pen on the coffee table. “Then why don’t you talk to _him?”_

The Leader glared at Steve. “Because he’s at an army hospital in Germany.”

“Is that right?” Steve asked.

There was a butter knife on the dining room table. Maybe Danny could reach it. Steve telegraphed his thoughts by keeping his head still and moving his line of vision toward the table. 

Danny followed his cue, following with his eyes toward the table and back. He blinked in acknowledgment. 

“You just spent the last seventy-two hours with Joe White. You know exactly where he is,” The Leader said. He obviously had contacts. 

“Actually, I spent most of my time on planes,” Steve said. “But, you already know that.”

“You were the last person with White and we need to know everything you two talked about.”

“We were kind of busy,” Steve said. “And to be honest, Joe doesn’t tell me anything. He’s secretive like that.”

“You’re one of the few people White trusts.”

Danny raised his eyebrows and snorted. Steve worked his jaw, calculating his next move. He glanced at Danny who stared at him. They would do a silent three count. 

“Oh, and nice try with the diversion tactics,” the Leader said. “But we don’t plan on giving you the opportunity to use them.”

Steve caught movement out of the corner of his eye. He slammed an elbow into the sternum of the man behind him. 

Danny leaped out of the loveseat, grabbing the rifle from his captor, and pointing it at the ceiling. It went off twice.

Steve lurched toward the coffee table to grab the pen when someone crashed into his side and slammed him into the wall. Steve elbowed his attacker in the jaw and drew his fist back to finish him off.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Danny punch his attacker in the face.

Something cold and metal touched the side of his neck. All of Steve’s muscles seized as an electric current went through his body. 

***  
**Afghanistan**  
**2003**

Steve was dead on his feet. In the last nineteen hours, he’d had a pre-mission briefing, an op, and debriefing. Then he’d written his after-action report. He wanted to face-plant in his bunk, but his CO had requested to see him. 

A scorching breeze assaulted his face. Steve wiped at his eyes and fought back a cough from breathing in the swirling dust. His TAC vest felt heavy over his fatigues. But he had no intention of getting shot by a sniper, so he left it on.

Carrying a half-empty gallon of water, Steve entered Commander Brooke’s tent and walked up to his desk. An oscillating fan in the corner circulated stale, hot air. 

Brooke sipped coffee from a dented metal mug. He was in his early forties with a trimmed beard and zero hair on his head. “At ease, Lieutenant.” He flipped through Steve’s AA report. “So, thirty clicks into enemy territory, you encountered a goat farmer, gained intel from him, and used it to locate your target’s village.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You had no idea if you were dealing with a non-combatant. He could have led you in circles or right into bobby-trapped compound. Hell, he could have been a Taliban solider on his way home or part of a scouting operation.”

Commander Brooke stared at Steve and waited for him to speak.

“His clothes were old and sewn together. He didn’t wear boots and when I shook his hand, his fingers were not calloused from firing a weapon.”

“He could still have posed a threat to your team.”

“I made an assessment based on our location and my observations of the subject. Given that our target has moved from village to village and that the terrain was very poor for cover and concealment. I determined using the farmer was worth the risk.”

Steve was confident about all his choices during the op. They had very little intelligence of the area and needed to make some headway. 

Commander Brooke finished his coffee and put his cup on his desk. 

“It would seem your risk assessment was accurate,” Brooke said in a flat tone that was hard to decipher. “I’ve sent the maps and observation points for cover and small arms range of local security measures of the village to command. They’re drafting a raid plan for tonight.”

A wave of adrenaline rushed through Steve. “I could brief my team. I recommend a full platoon and –”

“We’ve got another assignment for you, Lieutenant McGarrett,” someone said from the back of the tent.

Steve recognized that voice. The hair along the back of his neck stood up. Turning around, he stood at attention. “Sir.”

“At ease,” Joe replied.

***

Since Steve’s first deployment, he’d only seen Joe in passing a few times when they were at the same base or during certain classes. Steve trained with new equipment and practice drills between deployments. Home had been bedrolls or barracks for the last two years.

Ten months ago, he and Joe had both taken different parts of a large operation in Iraq. Then Steve had been sent to Afghanistan.

Ever since Joe completed his master’s degree, his career had taken off into clandestine operations. He’d taken the right tests, worked with right agencies and earned a higher rank.

Scuttlebutt was that Joe had planned several covert operations in northern Afghanistan to go after high-ranking Taliban leadership. In the last two years, they had only run into each other a few times. 

“It’s good to see you again,” Joe said as they searched for a jeep.

“Same here,” Steve replied with a smile.

***

Steve walked with Joe inside the main command tent. They both stood around a table with various satellite maps and recent thermal imagery spread over the surface. Commander Brooke joined them, as did several others Steve worked with.

Lieutenant Cabral was the CIA liaison Steve worked with the most. Next to her was Petty Officer Bowen, team logistics specialist, and a seasoned vet. He obsessively chewed on a piece of gum.

Steve glanced at the map, noting the boundary between Afghanistan and Pakistan. He also took note of several intelligence dossier folders with top secret clearance stamped on them. 

“I know everyone here just completed a successful night op, so I won’t keep ya long,” Joe began. “You’ve been selected to plan a recon mission to locate the whereabouts of a training camp run by Musa Asadi, the Taliban’s lead bomb maker.”

Joe handed Steve and the others the folders. Steve flipped through the intelligence on Asadi. It was painfully thin.

“As you know,” Joe continued. “During the last four weeks there has been an escalation in violence north and south of Kabul.”

Steve was well aware; he’d led six recon and three direct fire missions in the last month.

“The Taliban have increased their use of roadside IEDs and suicide bombings attacks. Not only that, they’ve been picking up new tricks from the insurgents in Iraq and gotten their hands on more high-powered explosives.” Joe scanned everyone around the table. “The death toll has climbed to unacceptable levels. And we’re going to locate this bomber’s death school and help take it out.”

“What is the level of intelligence on the current target?” Steve asked.

“Minimal.”

This would need to the first of maybe half a dozen ops. They would collect data for all missions planning. Weather conditions were a must with the summer season. Not to mention mapping the trafficability for teams on foot. 

Steve started calculating the amount of photographic equipment they would need to carry to help sketch out new maps and the number of sensors to plant. 

He was thinking at least seven days to record the terrain and gather data. An eight-man platoon would rotate between surveillance and security. He was already mentally picking out team members. Given how deep into the mountains they would need to go, entering by horseback might be the best option. 

“This will be a two-man mission consisting of myself and Lieutenant McGarrett,” Joe announced. 

Steve’s head’s shot up. “Sir?”

Bowmen and Cabral looked taken off guard. It was hard to surprise the CIA.

“We’ll parachute in, infiltrate by foot, and move at night,” Joe said to the team.

That didn’t jive in Steve’s head and he wasn’t afraid to say so. “Given the lack intelligence, I think performing a series of zone recons would collect the most data.”

“Normally, I would agree with your assessment, but given the classification of this op, a two-man team is all that is being authorized.”

Steve studied Joe’s face, but his expression was neutral. Glancing back at the maps, Steve studied the satellite imagery. Realization dawned. “The training base is in Pakistan.”

“We like to think of it as the outskirts,” Joe hedged. “The Pakistanis wouldn’t put a base within their territory, but they would allow it within a mile of their border.”

“Shit,” Bowmen cursed. “That’s gonna to make insertion tricky.”

“Insertion will need to be ten miles out.”

Bowmen glared at Joe. “What about communications?”

Joe shook his head. “Minimal. Radio commendations are iffy given the terrain.”

“And escape and evasion plans?” Steve asked.

“Still in the planning stages,” Joe said.

“I have concerns,” Cabral spoke up for the first time. She had enough pull to put the brakes on the mission or at least punt it back to command. “The nearest airbase is four hundred miles away. Not to mention back-up.”

Joe didn’t flinch. “I understand. We’ll work together on options.”

“All right, we’ll re-convene at 1800 hours. I want everyone involved in last night’s mission to get some sleep. I’m talking a full eight hours,” Brooke glared at all of them. “Now go eat, get a couple of helpings while you’re at it. And I’ll see everyone back tomorrow.”

Steve glanced at the maps and back at Joe who started speaking with Brooke in the far corner of the tent. Cabral was on her satellite phone at the other end.

Bowmen glanced at Steve as he walked away. Based on his tense posture, he wasn’t a hundred percent behind this. Logistics officers had their finger on the pulse of all operations; their job was to supply personnel with tools for success. 

Walking outside into the desert, Steve didn’t think he would get much sleep.

***

The air in Steve’s tent felt like a wall of heat. Steve sat on his bunk bed flipping through previous reports on the recon area. He shared the space with three other men, but they were out on maneuvers, leaving Steve alone with his thoughts. 

It was early morning. He’d only managed a few hours of sleep.

The flap to his tent moved and Joe walked in carrying two thermoses of coffee. He handed the first one to Steve. “Figured you had some questions. Thought I’d come by and answer them for you.”

Steve waved the folder at him. “I’ve never seen such a razor-thin intelligence package before.”

“Hence the need for recon.”

“I agree, but we need deep recon. That means a larger platoon, one that can go in for longer periods of time. We can’t conduct the proper number of patrols to create a true zone map.”

“I agree.”

Steve’s forehead wrinkled. “Then why are we doing it?”

Joe released a heavy breath. He looked tired. “Because there isn’t sufficient evidence to support one.” He sipped his coffee. “This is the eighth possible location for Musa Asadi. Our intel for his current whereabouts is based on a CIA asset. This op is sanctioned by the Special Activities Division.”

Most of Steve’s work was directed by the Joint Special Operations Command who oversaw all Special Forces. But SAD was for military operations considered not viable or politically feasible. Unconventional warfare. Mostly unsanctioned, dangerous missions. 

Joe looked at Steve with open frankness. He didn’t speak to him like a subordinate. “I picked you for this mission for your ability to think under pressure.”

Steve raised his eyebrows. He’d never been selected for any black ops before. 

“Steve. You’ve led over twenty successful special recon missions in the last few months. You have talent for analysis. Not to mention leading your team out of some hairy situations when surveillance turned into direct action. Even a few snatch and grabs when the opportunity presented itself. I only want the best on this.”

“Why are you leading it?” Steve could be as equally frank. “Usually JSOC frowns at sending anyone with an oak leaf out into the field.”

“I’ve been on Musa Asadi’s tail for two years and I know this intel is good. I personally helped flip this asset; he’s come through for me on four previous missions. If we can locate this bomber’s training camp, we’ll destroy his ability to train others and prevent further bloodshed.”

Joe rarely allowed his emotions to slip through, so it caught Steve’s attention when he spoke with such passion. 

“Something happened, didn’t it?”

Joe swallowed and looked away before he stared back at Steve. “I did. I lost some good men, not to mention several Afghan families. Innocent victims who happen to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. SAD wants this guy, but we’re spread too thin, Steve. They green lit this mission based on my word.”

And Joe trusted him. He wanted Steve to have this back. 

Steve nodded. He didn’t need further explanation. “Okay. If this means we can strangle this recent insurgency, I’m all in.”

***

**2018**

Steve‘s stomach churned and someone was using a jackhammer on the back of his skull. He groaned. 

“You awake?”

That was Danny’s voice. But Steve was in Nigeria…no Afghanistan.

“No, you’re in a very empty room with me.”

Had he said that out loud? Steve rubbed at his temple. After some of the fuzziness in his head abated, Steve realized two things: he was lying on a hard surface and his head was cradled against something soft and warm. 

Fingers kneaded circles at the base of his neck. It felt _so_ good. Soothing. He started succumbing to the tenderness.

“Hey, hey. Don’t go back to sleep.”

Danny had that tight, worried tone to his voice. It was Steve’s job to keep him from sounding like that.

It was a struggle, but Steve forced his eyes open, only to realize that Danny was peering over him. Oh. Steve’s head was pillowed in Danny’s lap. “W-hat happened?”

“Let's see. You went off to play Rambo in Nigeria. You managed to come home in one piece. Good job. And being the amazing person that I am, I thought maybe you’d like some homemade lasagna. I was greeted by a goon squad as soon as I stepped inside.” Danny moved his head back and forth in thought. “Oh, and a few minutes after you walked through the door, you got zapped by a stun gun.”

God, it was hard to think. Using his hands, Steve pushed up until he was in a sitting position. “Are you okay?”

“Other than being kidnapped? Yeah, I’m fine.” Danny stretched out his legs and rolled his neck. “They made me help carry you around. You’re heavy by the way. Maybe you should lay off all the butter in your coffee.”

Steve leaned his back against the wall. His muscles were stiff from the mission and resulting tazing. He glanced at Danny to verify he really was uninjured. He was dressed in black t-shirt and jeans. It looked like he’d been running his hands through his hair, but other than that, he appeared okay.

“Did they identify themselves?”

“They weren’t very talkative, but one of the guys called the one in charge Collins.”

Steve didn’t know a Collins. 

“They left us this.” Danny pulled out a walkie talkie from his jeans pocket and gave it to Steve. “They tossed it to me without a word.”

Steve turned it over. It was a cheap two-way radio. He fiddled with the channels, but he only got static except for channel three which was silent.

“I’ve already played with it. Nadda.”

Steve returned it to Danny. Leaving a remote means of communication hinted that their captors did not intend to interact with them in person. Or worse, the plan was to keep them imprisoned for a longer period of time. Both prospects were not good.

He glanced around their surroundings. They were in a vacant room with no facilities, food or water. 

“There isn’t much to see,” Danny said with a frown. “The room is about fifteen by ten feet. There’s one door in and out. It’s kind of weird.”

“Weird how?”

“It’s like a door on a ship.”

That got Steve’s attention. “Like a hatch?”

“Kind of.”

Steve stared up at the ceiling. 

“We’re not in a shipping container,” Danny said. “If feels like we’re in a factory or a warehouse. There are plenty of air vents, so we won’t die from lack of oxygen.”

It was a thorough assessment of the room. Using the wall, Steve stood up, bracing his chest with his arm to support his bruised muscles. “I don’t like it.”

Danny got to his feet with a groan and twisted his back left and right. He narrowed his eyes at Steve. “You okay?”

“Yeah. I’m fine.” Steve stared at the tiled floor. The ceiling was about nine feet high. There could be cameras in the vents, but they were too high to inspect.

“I don’t see any film projectors,” Danny said in a voice almost too soft to hear.

Steve didn’t admit that his mind had gone there. Wo Fat was dead. “I don’t think this is a similar situation.”

Steve did another circle around the room. He stopped in front of the door and traced his fingers over the metal surface. 

“You know,” Danny began. “I was doing pretty good during this whole thing. I kept my cool when you told me you were going to join some SEAL mission, when you are, in fact, not an active SEAL anymore.”

“Neither is Junior.”

“Seriously? You’re using that as an excuse? Because he was jumping out of airplanes like only six months ago. You on the other hand have been in the reserves since I met you.”

“I’m not denying that. And I did call you.”

“Yes, you did and that is a good job. But while you learned how to pick up a phone, you did so while on your way _to the base.”_

“It’s not like you could have come with me. And I texted you, we texted.”

“We did indeed text.”

Steve walked passed him to conduct another survey of the room. “Then, what’s the problem?”

Danny threw up his hands. “Are you sure you were in Naval Intelligence?” He glared at Steve as he prowled. “No matter how many times you walk in a circle the room hasn’t changed.”

“Good recon requires multiple surveys of the environment.”

“It’s still a square room.”

Steve went over to the door again. There was no door knob just a silver plate to push it open. He placed both his palms flat and pushed hard to no avail.

“Oh gee, maybe I should have tried opening that while you were taking your cat nap.”

Annoyed, Steve shoved his shoulder against it to see if it would give. It didn’t. But it aggravated his sore chest.

“Okay, what was that? And his time, don’t deflect the question.”

Steve wasn’t sure what Danny was talking about until he realized he’d been rubbing at is sternum. “That was me being careful.”

“Careful how?”

“There was a situation. Shots were fired, and I took a bullet to the vest. It’s just a bruise.”

“Oh, is that all. I’m glad you didn’t add any new holes to your collection.”

“We need to come up with a plan.”

Danny must have agreed because he stopped arguing. “We don’t have any weapons, or cover.” He glanced at the door. “We don’t have anything to pry that open.” He looked up at the vents. “Those are only large enough for a bird to fit through.” Clicking with his tongue, he walked around the room. “Okay, so if we can’t escape, that leaves what? Surprise, right?”

“Like an ambush.”

“Yeah, like an ambush.” Danny turned in an exaggerated circle. “Although we’re lacking a place to hide.”

“But it’s not always about concealment. It could be about luring your enemy into the kill zone.”

Danny opened his mouth and whistled. “Your mind is a terrifying place.”

“Yeah, well.” Steve gazed into the distance…. “It’s pretty terrifying when you’re the one caught off-guard.”

***

**2003**

It was always best during planning and preparation to pick out the same teams for both the recon and direct-action phase. This way everyone gained more familiarity with the area. Steve made sure that the aircrew used for the jump and the helo pilots for the extraction sat during the briefings. 

Usually there were several alternatives in infiltration and exfiltration methods using ships, inflatable boats, and helicopters. Steve and Joe only had one means of going in and out after the insertion.

Bowmen almost chewed a whole pack of gum in frustration. “Damn dessert.”

But they still reviewed approaches and means depending on weather forecasts. Bowmen had cursed about that, too.

Steve studied the woefully inadequate terrain maps. There was some foliage for cover, but the mountains would wreak havoc with their radios. They would probably need to use the natural topography and dig foxholes for concealment. Steve mulled over what supplies they would have to ditch in favor of maneuverability.

Cabral chewed on her bottom lip. “The latest chatter is that Musa Asadi may be on the move soon.”

Joe narrowed his eyes at her. “Based on what?”

“Based on another agency investigation into his money guy,” she said. “Rumor is that whoever is helping to finance his bomb-making is trying to arrange a meet.”

“We can’t let him slip through our fingers.” Joe looked over at Steve. “The weather looks to be in our favor for the next several days.”

Dust storms increased during the summer. It was already late May. 

“Let’s review the jump again,” Steve said, with Joe’s agreement.

***

Sometimes during a clear night, Steve went outside at night to look up at the sky and take in millions of glittering stars. He automatically looked for a reddish one around the horizon, but it was nowhere to be seen.

“It’s beautiful a night,” Joe said, standing beside him.

“Yeah,” Steve agreed, releasing a heavy sigh.

“I’m always amazed at the different constellations out here.” Joe looked over at Steve in consideration. “When’s the last time you went home?”

Steve frowned, thinking. He didn’t want to admit out loud how long it’d really been. The weeks and months piled on fast. And before Steve knew it, he’d spent all his leave training.

“You’re on your third deployment. You’ve gone back at least once, haven’t you?”

Steve searched the sky again. Joe was right, he didn’t recognize the patterns. A pang of guilt filled his chest “Not yet.”

Joe wanted to say something, Steve could tell, but they had an equipment check soon. 

Now wasn’t the time for such talk.

***

Jumping near the border of Pakistan depended on minimal detection. There was little turbulence as the C-130 cruised at thirty-thousand feet. 

Steve breathed through his mask as the flight surgeon asked him random questions to check for alertness. Given the cold temperatures and high altitude, he and Joe were at risk for hypoxia. 

Steve double and tripled checked all his straps, the gauges on the computer at his wrist. He made sure his face mask and helmet were snug.

An alarm rang through the bay of the plane. Gomez, a member of the air crew, held up his fingers. They were four minutes out. The light that signaled when to jump was red.

Joe whirled his finger and Steve turned around for him. Joe yanked on Steve’s pack, verifying everything was secured. Steve did the same for him. There were never too many safety checks. High Altitude, High-Open, parachute jumps were risky, but they were the best way to avoid enemy detection.

Steve and the flight crew had reviewed the math several times. He and Joe would hop out at 6,000 meters, deploy their chutes, and drift to the landing site 20 kilometers downwind from where they initially jumped out of the plane.

Steve breathed in through his nose and out his mouth. In and out. Slow and calm.

Another alarm echoed through the plane. Two minutes.

Steve waddled toward the line painted on the deck of the plane. All his survival equipment was stored in a rucksack attached between his legs. He would release it seconds before landing. 

The flight surgeon and Gomez secured their safety straps, so they couldn’t fall out of the plane. Gomez gave Steve and Joe the thumbs up and began opening the plane’s bay door, triggering a warning alarm. 

The door lowered, wind whipped through the bay of the plane. Joe walked over first. Steve followed him and inched closer down the ramp, watching the red light. Waiting.

Thirty seconds.

Steve placed a hand on the back of Joe’s shoulder. He would follow Joe out, so they would land on the ground close to each other.

The light flashed green.

Joe took several steps down and leaped. 

Steve ran down the ramp and dived into a hundred mile per hour freefall.

Adrenaline surged through his body. It felt like his heart might explode from beating so fast. Air rushed around him as he plummeted. 

Ten, twenty, thirty seconds. He drew his cord. The resulting force of the air catching the opening parachute, slingshot his body like a bungee cord.

His rate of velocity went from over a hundred miles per hour to twenty. He would be sore for days.

Steve hung in mid-air, his parachute billowing above him as he piloted his descent. HAHO jumps were long; this one would last another eighteen minutes. Every minute was a calculation. Speed and wind direction. Steve continued adjusting his turns to remain on target.

Peering down, he floated above Joe, watching him for navigational signals. They should have been in a tighter group. When they landed, they would be a good fifty feet from one another. 

It was 0450 hours. Given the lack of detail on the terrain, they didn’t want to risk a night jump. By the time they would land, the faint hints of dawn would provide them with enough light to land safely.

Ten minutes.

It would be peaceful if Steve didn’t have to make minor adjustments every thirty seconds. Blobs became foothills, shapes trees. He needed a flatter surface.

Six minutes.

Steve was planning out the landing in his head. Finding the perfect spot, how to roll when his boots touched the ground. The fastest way to gather their gear, store and conceal their chutes. 

Three minutes.

There was large swatch of trees to the west that Steve had course-corrected for, but there were random ones scattered throughout the drop-zone. Too spread apart, too dry and short for the imaging to pick-up.

Joe seemed to like a certain spot, adjusting course. Steve followed his commanding officer. 

Two minutes.

_Rat-a-tat. Rat-a-tat. Rat-a-tat._

_Shit_. They were being fired upon. Where was it coming from?

Sixty seconds.

Steve tried pin-pointing the direction of the shots. Another volley was aimed in his direction. And another. Two or three shooters. It was hard to tell how Joe was faring…Steve watched him land forty feet away. 

Steve was still a sitting duck.

He yanked hard on his lines, trying to catch the wind and glide in the opposite direction. But he was becoming a bigger target. The gunfire continued as the ground started getting closer and closer.

_Rat-a-tat._

_Fuck._ A sudden hot-white pain engulfed his shoulder. 

Steve lost precious seconds and he blinked against the sudden confusion. He tried adjusting his lines, tried guiding his chute, but his arm didn’t work right. His head felt fuzzy, his vision blurred.

His parachute was a like a flashing neon sign. 

_Rat-a-tat. Rat-a-tat. Rat-a-tat._

He’d get shot to pieces if he didn’t do something. He was over a small growth of trees. They would help break his fall.

Steve yanked on his both emergency cords, ditching his chute.

He dropped like a rag doll.

The ground and trees were rushing up to— _whack._ Pain lanced up is leg; branches smacked him in the face, his chest, his arms…. 

Something smashed the back of his skull and everything went black.

***


	2. Chapter Two

***  
**2018**

“Hey, Earth to Steve.”

It took a moment before Steve realized Danny was trying to get his attention. Shit, he’d spaced out while staring at door. He turned his head in Danny’s direction. “I’m sorry. What?”

Danny went from annoyance to worry in seconds. He started touching Steve, his fingers prodding the base of Steve’s skull. “Did you hit your head while you were in Nigeria? Do you have a concussion?”

“No.” Steve held Danny’s wrists, squeezing them before nudging them away. “We were near an airstrike, but no concussion.” 

“An airstrike. Wow. Well, never mind. I’m sure you’re fine.” Danny rolled his eyes and muttered under his breath.

Steve knew Danny was stressed out and he didn’t want to add to it. Not when they were both in danger due to Steve’s connections.

Danny wiped a hand over his face and sighed. He looked around the room again. “So, this ambush idea. Does it consist of pretending something is wrong and calling the guards and then beating the crap out of them?”

“Something like that.”

“They’ll probably come in with guns.”

“And we’ll disarm them.”

Danny talked with gestures, his fingers dancing while he spoke. “Because of the whole element of surprise thing.”

“Exactly,” Steve said with a nod. 

“I guess it’s better than waiting on them to unleash whatever horrible plans they have on us.”

Steve would not allow his mind to wander there. People like these were experts in extracting information using vicious methods. “I’m sorry you got pulled into this.”

Danny dismissed him with a wave of his hand this time. “Well, I’m glad you weren’t pulled into it all alone. Although it would kind of help knowing what this is all about. Any ideas?”

Steve had been wracking his brain ever since he’d woken up. “No.”

“But it’s about Joe?”

Was it? Steve hadn’t talked to Joe for almost a year since this week. “I honestly have no idea what these people want.”

“Hey, I know that.” Danny laid a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “But now we need to figure out what it is that they _think_ you know.”

They shared a grimace, each of them lost in memories given the last time someone wanted information from Steve that he didn’t have. He released a heavy sigh. “I don’t have a clue. We didn’t even have much time to talk.”

“But you did…talk that is.”

God, Steve was so brain-fried. Jetlag on top of an op. “We talked about the mission to grab him. I introduced him to Junior. He was exhausted. Once we got to the extraction point, he was under medical supervision. He’d been in captivity for over six months.”

“Okay.” Danny crossed his arms, watching him. “Then what about the reason for his capture?”

Steve rubbed at his temple with the edge of his wrist. “I don’t really know. I only had time to prep the mission.”

Danny stared at Steve like he’d grown two heads. He opened his mouth, probably to rant, but instead, he threw his hands wide. “You took the mission without knowing the circumstances around it?”

Danny was right on the money. It was a shit show. If he was still active, Steve would have never planned such a mission without deep background. But his emotions had overruled his normal logic. “I wasn’t briefed on why or how Joe was abducted. JSOC’s main objective was on their capture mission.”

“Who was it?”

“A high-value target codenamed, Reaper.”

Danny listened, nodding. “And he was?”

“A major financer for Boko Haram.” Steve had read the classified dossier on Reaper, but his priority had been studying the layout of his compound. “I can’t discuss the rest with you.”

“You can’t…are you kidding me? We’re locked inside some weird room by people who think you have some type of intel on Joe White or this Reaper character. And you can’t tell me anymore about him?”

“It’s classified and besides, my main target wasn’t Reaper. It was Joe.”

“Yes, Joe. The man who has more secrets than Fort Knox.”

Danny wore his heart on his sleeve and his bitterness toward Joe was justified. If their roles were reversed, if Steve didn’t know Joe like he did, he’d be the first to rip him a new one. 

Danny had been there for Steve during some of his worst nights regarding hard truths about Joe White. Loyalty was one of Steve’s hot buttons and to realize someone he’d held in such high regard could deceive for so long. 

His relationship with Joe was tangled-up with so many good and bad chapters in his life. But Steve’s history with him ran deeper than the last seven years….

“Given his choice of career,” Steve snorted. “Joe’s secrets rank more like Area 51.”

“You’re making jokes now? Seriously? This man knew everything about Doris which means he knew everything about Wo Fat….” Danny’s voice shook in anger. He balled his hands into tight fists. “How do we know that he hasn’t somehow gotten you mixed up in another crazy CIA covert ops, spy shit?”

“Because he was prisoner in a Nigerian terrorist camp.”

“And it wouldn’t surprise me that he still managed to rope you into some mess.”

Steve starred pacing. He couldn’t do this right now, fight with Danny over this. “Look, I don’t know what is happening, but I don’t think Joe has anything to do with it.”

“You don’t think? You know, babe, I love your loyalty, but sometimes it’s very misplaced.”

His heart pounded and his adrenaline spiked. It was a horrible waste of energy. Steve tried to control his breathing. “I trust Joe to have my back.”

An expression of hurt then anger lined Danny’s face. “Really? After all this time?”

Breathe in for four seconds, hold for four seconds, release for four seconds. 

“I get what you’re saying. I know he betrayed me and what he did….” Steve swallowed against a wave of emotion. “I don’t trust him about my mother or Wo Fat. But when it comes to watching my six?” Steve stood tall. “Yes, I do.”

***  
**2003**

Steve’s head pounded. He swallowed against nausea, but his mouth was bone-dry.

Everything hurt. It felt like he’d been in a car accident. His shoulder _throbbed._ And a deep radiating pain went down his lower right leg.

Steve sucked in a ragged breath as flashes from the HAHO jump flashed inside his mind. Something dug into his ribs. It felt like…. 

It was someone’s shoulders. He was hanging upside down. 

Joe was carrying him.

“W-what happened?” Steve asked. 

Things shifted. Steve went from being upside down to a heap on the ground. He groaned as the movement jarred pain throughout his body. His leg felt like it was on fire. 

Steve sucked in a breath and squinted up at his CO. Joe had shed all his gear and wore a camo bonnie hat. He must have cut Steve from his chute and removed his helmet and equipment. How long had Steve been out?

He did a quick limb check and sucked in a pained breath. “My leg’s broken.” 

Joe handed Steve a canteen of water. “I thought it might be. We started taking fire on the float down. When I touched the ground, you were still up in the air. You had to ditch from 50 feet up and crashed through a tree.”

Steve took several sips and spat away the blood in his mouth from biting his lip in the fall.

He sat up the best he could and took another drink. His head was still fuzzy. It felt like knifes were being driven through his temples. Concussion. But that was the least of his problems. “Where’s the back-up?

“Back-up would be nice.” Joe looked around the terrain. “The problem is that our coms are useless until we get out of this valley.”

Right. Steve knew that. Communications were going to be an issue. His shoulder burned when he moved it.

Steve looked down at the blood on the front part of his fatigues. “What’s wrong with my shoulder, Joe? I get shot?”

Joe lifted the collar to his BUD shirt then peered behind Steve’s back. “Yeah.”

Steve glanced down at the blood stain where the bullet had entered. “Through and through?”

“Yeah, it’s out.”

“Well, that’s good.” If was still inside him, he’d be fucked.

“We’ve got to keeping moving,” Joe said with a grunt. “There are still hostiles in this area.”

Yeah, that wasn’t going to happen. Steve was too busted up. “You’ve got to leave me here, Joe.”

“No, we’re going to go up that ridge and get a signal out and call for exfil.”

Steve glanced up at a steep, rugged ridge that was at minimum a three hour climb on two good legs. But Joe wasn’t going to take no for an answer. He had that look in his eyes, the same one that challenged Steve to do one hundred more push-ups after an eighteen-hour day of boat drills.

He would not leave Steve behind. But Steve didn’t have to like it. 

Joe reached over and took Steve’s hand and helped bring him to his feet. His entire body seized in pain. “There’s something wrong with you Joe White. Something very wrong.”

Steve’s head swam, and his legs buckled. Joe draped Steve’s arm over his shoulder and kept him from falling. “I’ve got you…. Give yourself a moment.”

Steve leaned against Joe, panting. Forcing the agony out of his head. He waited for the ground to stop spinning and swallowed. Focus. “What…about our supplies?”

They needed to take an inventory. 

“We don’t have any. When I landed, several shooters were on me. I returned fire and injured them. I couldn’t grab my kit.”

Because Joe had gone after Steve. 

Grimacing, Steve pulled himself into a more standing position, locking his spine, digging into all his energy reserves. “What about my rucksack?” 

“Caught in the trees.”

“Weapons?”

“Just my sidearm.”

Steve patted at his hip, but he didn’t have his SIG. His rifle, pistol, and ammo had been in his rucksack because of jump aerodynamics. 

They were unarmed and with zero supplies. And he was fucking injured.

Joe must have been reading his mind. “Just think of this as another day during SERE. Now come on.”

Keeping weight off of his bad leg, Steve used Joe as a crutch, and started their trek up the ridge.

***

It felt like acid had been poured down his leg. Steve tried not putting any weight on it, but it was so fucking hard. _God_ …every step, every _stumble-hop_ sent daggers through his limb. 

He tried biting down against the pain, focusing on the ground, on breathing, on anything. Move, just move. 

A memory of his mother flashed inside his head. Mom kissing his knee after he hurt it at the playground, of his father coming home late after Steve had gone to bed with an icepack. Of Joe yelling at him to get the hell up after twenty hours of drills on the beach.

Steve stumbled over a rock. Joe grabbed him and held onto Steve, keeping them both from falling.

“Okay, I think we’re far enough. We’ll stop for a moment.”

“No,” Steve protested. They had only been moving for half an hour, their progress slow.

Joe unslung Steve’s arm from his shoulder and lowered him to the dirt under a tree. “You don’t get a vote.”

Whoever shot them down could be on their trail. “We need to keep going.”

“We’ve got to stabilize your leg.”

Steve squeezed his eyes closed and exhaled through his mouth. “You…should leave me here. Keep climbing…get the signal out….”

“We’re gonna splint this leg. If we wait too long, it could cause nerve damage.”

They were in enemy territory and their back-up was hundreds of miles away. The best chance either of them had was if Joe didn’t have someone dragging him down. Steve grit his teeth against a fresh wave of pain as he listened to Joe walk around. 

“You’ll move faster without me.”

“The last time I checked you were a Navy SEAL. And we don’t leave anyone behind. Is that clear, Lieutenant?

Steve opened his eye to the sharp tone. “Crystal.”

Joe cracked a tree limb over his knee. After searching his pockets, he pulled out a small roll of duct tape. “Never go anywhere without this,” he said, holding it up.

Steve quirked a smile. “Noted.”

Joe wiped the sweat from his brow. “This is gonna hurt.”

Digging his fingers into the dirt, Steve tried thinking of a peaceful moment. Anything but this. He thought of the waves lapping against the sand at home, of the peace and quiet. Squeezing his eyes closed he clamped down on a scream as Joe began bracing his leg.

***  
**2018**

Despite the lack of weapons or even cover, Steve felt going on the offensive was their best option. While he and Danny discussed whether to pound on the door or to use the radio, the walkie talkie squawked while Steve was holding it.

_“Commander McGarrett.”_

Steve held up the radio. He chewed on his lip before answering. “This is McGarrett.”

_“We would like you to give us a detailed action after report regarding your mission to rescue Joe White. Specifically, all conversations regarding the financing operations of terror cells in that region.”_

“Like I told you, I really didn’t have time to talk to Joe.”

_“Commander, have you and Detective Williams taken a good look at your accommodations?”_

Danny glanced around the room again. All the hair along his arms had stood up. Steve squeezed his bicep in reassurance. 

“The room could use some natural light,” Steve remarked. 

_“This was a warehouse for a Biotech Company. They required various types of storage rooms, anything from different temperature setting to carefully controlled nitrogen and oxygen levels. You’re in a room where they used ozone generators.”_

Danny looked up at the ceiling and all the air vents. A cold lump dread took up a spot in Steve’s throat. “Is that so?”

_“In a minute you’re going hear the vibration of those generators turning on. According to our government, they’re great at filtering the air. I hear this is what they use to make that amazing new carpet smell.”_

Steve clutched the radio between his fingers. “Listen, Joe did discuss a few mission details with me. I’ll tell them to you if you turn those generators off.”

_“I’m glad to hear that your recollections during the mission are returning. I want to give you time to really think about it though. Get all those details in order. We’ll check back in a little while.”_

“Hey wait!” Steve yelled into the radio. But the channel was dead.

Danny’s breathing increased as he paced. “Ozone is not good for you. They have alerts in L.A. for heavy ozone and smog. And these,” he waved at the vents. “These do not represent a muggy day outside.”

“Look, we can handle this.” Steve took Danny’s elbow, gaining his attention. “Hey look at me. We’re going to get through this.”

“We should get as low as possible, right?” Danny went to the far corner of the room and sat with his back against the wall. 

“That’s a good idea.”

Steve followed suit. There was only about three feet of distance between them and the air vents. It wouldn’t provide them with much protection, but it was all psychological at this point. 

“So, you’ve probably already done the math in your head. How long will before we’re toast? Because ozone is toxic, it’s got like an extra atom of oxygen or some shit. Which is funny, you’d thinking having more oxygen was better for you.”

 

Steve had calculated the volume of the room, but without knowing the speed in which the gas was being pumped inside, he only had a rough idea before the saturation point would kill them. 

“I don’t know. All we can do is focus on taking slower, less frequent breaths. The more we panic, the more we’re breathing in the O3.”

“Right. At least you can hold your breath for much longer.”

Steve glared at Danny and he glared right back. Fiddling with the radio, Steve tried thinking back to what he knew about terrorist cells in Africa. But he only had bits from the mission brief, what he’d read in the news and his own experience which was over eight years ago.

He needed something. Who were their abductors? Not CIA. They would have questioned Steve on the base. A rouge faction of the intelligence community? Paid operatives of those working at the compound? Adversaries? 

What was Joe’s original mission? He was a private contractor now. What information could he have that would be so valuable? Bank account numbers? No, that would require data, and Joe had been held captive for months. Something that wasn’t complicated. 

If this was about finances, that left transferring assets. So, people. Couriers, accountants, money launders. 

Steve knew enough about money laundering operations used by terror cells to bullshit. He pressed the talk button. “I have information on how money was funneled from local taxation and extortion by warlords into Boko Haram.”

A rough tickle started bothering the back of his throat. Danny made weird coughing sound beside him. 

Steve had to keep stringing information. These people went through a lot of trouble to kidnap them. It smacked of desperation; they needed Steve to know something. He activated the radio again. “I was told about the courier systems. Even with all the digital bit coin transfers, we both know how valuable it is to use cash.”

The back of his throat burned. Steve swallowed several times and slowed his breathing. He waited another minute, growling in frustration. 

“Don’t you think they know you’re just grasping at straws?” Danny asked. His eyes looked irritated, like he’d been rubbing them.

“Well, they weren’t exactly specific.”

Danny made a dry hacking sound before taking a sharp inhale of breath. “It’s not like Joe had time to tell you about some giant terrorist banking system with you.” He paused, inhaling sharply again before coughing again. “Most bad guys want names, right?”

But Steve didn’t have any names. The burning in his throat increased and his forearms started to sting. He resisted scratching at his skin. 

“Fuck,” Danny said, rubbing at his throat.

Steve grabbed Danny’s hand and moved it away from his face. “Hey, take it easy.” 

He squeezed Danny’s fingers then kissed them. “You’ve got to remain calm and before you yell at me, I know it’s hard. But you’ve got to try. I know…,” Steve sucked in a breath when his chest tightened.

This time, Danny squeezed Steve’s hand in return, rubbing his thumb over Steve’s palm. “Okay…I’m okay. It’s about taking slow breaths. I can do that…,” Danny cleared his throat. “We’ll do it together.”

Swallowing again, Steve nodded. “Yeah. Just…do counts of four.”

Danny squeezed Steve’s hand twice before laying his palms on his thighs, closing his eyes as if he was about to mediate. He actually looked peaceful. Steve wondered if Danny would ever consider yoga or if he’d laugh in Steve’s face. Steve needed to ensure that there would be a future time and a place for that. 

Names. Steve needed to connect the dots and come up with something that these assholes wanted to hear. He had to buy them more time. 

He glanced at his watch. It’d been ten minutes since the room started filling with ozone.

***  
**2003**

Steve visualized reaching the top of the ridge. If they reached the top, Joe could get the signal out. 

There was no pain; pain was just a temporary state of being. The hole in his shoulder would be healed in a few weeks; his sore ribs a distant memory by the 4th of July. 

The ridge was the immediate goal; he would reach in a few hours. By the time he was cleared for duty again, this current obstacle would be a distant memory.

He ignored the pulsating pain in his shoulder, the way his right hip screamed at the abuse of taking all his weight from his good leg.

Get to the ridge. Once they reached it, they could focus on the next goal.

***

Fifty steps, Steve could do fifty. It wasn’t about the whole goal, the whole journey, just the first part of it.

One…two…three.

Each step was a new victory. 

Thirteen, fourteen.

“You’ve swum six miles from a submarine to an offshore vessel and disarmed a bomb,” Joe said, huffing.

Thirty, thirty-one.

“And after twenty-seven days of cold weather survival training you could still do calculus.”

Forty-six, forty-seven.

“Hey?” Joe stopped and shook Steve lightly. “You with me?”

“Forty-nine, fifty,” Steve breathed. 

“Yeah? And how many reps does that make?”

Steve had to think a moment. Nine. Ten? No. “Eleven….”

“Over five hundred steps, not bad. I tell ya, what. You give me nine more reps of fifty and we’ll stop for a while.”

“No…I can…I can go further.”

“I know you can.” Joe adjusted Steve’s arm around his shoulders, breathing heavy. “But I need a break, okay? We’ll do them together. Nine reps of fifty. Understood?”

Nine more reps. Fifty steps per set. One small victory at a time. 

Steve licked his lips “Yes, sir.”

***

The ground was hard and uneven, but it felt like pure heaven not to be upright anymore. Cold penetrated Steve’s bones and his teeth chattered, but he was too exhausted to care. Pulling at his shirt, he tried burrowing into its meager warmth to no avail. In the desert the temperature could drop more than thirty degrees in a day. 

Blood loss and shock had zapped him of strength. He didn’t even have the energy to protest when Joe had helped lie him down in a heap of freaking rumble. It would make a fitting grave.

Joe spoke with him, random things to probably keep him distracted while he helped Steve to sit up. It was all a blur of words as Joe poured their rationed water over his injured shoulder. But they both knew water would not disinfect the wound, nor would the strips of shirt do much for internal bleeding....

He didn’t even protest when Joe helped him to lie back down. Steve clutched at his shirt again and watched with weary eyes as Joe began removing his BDU shirt, leaving only a t-shirt underneath.

“What are you doing? No, you keep that.” His voice was so fucking frail to his ears. 

“Are you kidding me? This is baseball weather.” Joe draped his fatigues over Steve. “You island boys don’t know what to do when it gets below 70 degrees.”

Joe started stacking rocks in a shelter over Steve’s legs. “I’m going to hide you, then try to go up further to get a signal out.”

It was the most sensible thing Joe had said in hours. It was the strategic thing to do. 

Steve didn’t argue as the rocks covered his knees. He didn’t say a word when they reached his stomach. And he surprised himself when he didn’t protest when Joe handed him his SIG.

Curling his fingers around the handle gave him a small feeling of control.

Joe placed the final rocks over his chest, leaving his head free to keep watch. 

If Steve’s final act was protecting Joe so he could get an extraction, then it would be an honor.

***

Rocks dug into his back and ants crawled over his skin. Steve breathed in through his nose for four seconds and breathed out for four. He repeated the exercise until the constant throb in his leg and shoulder were background noise to everything around him.

Lying on the hard-packed ground, he looked up at the night sky. It was a breath-taking swatch of swirling stardust. On instinct, Steve searched for the four stars that made-up _Hanaiakamalama_. But he wouldn’t find it out here and his chest filled with a pain that had nothing to do with his injuries. 

Wind rustled through twisted, shrubby trees. Rats and lizards scurried around. He tensed at every sound. 

Steve licked at his split lip, a small hurt compared to the rest of his body. He was dehydrated, despite Joe’s best efforts to share what little water they had. He wished he had enough to get rid of the copper taste in his mouth.

His ears perked up at a nearby noise. He squeezed the butt of his weapon, straining to hear, trying to figure out if it was Joe or if it was the enemy.

Holding his breath, Steve focused on the sound of rustling, but it wasn’t heavy enough to be human. Probably a deer or maybe jackal, it was hard to tell.

A bird caw echoed overhead. Steve took a shuddering gulp of air and tried to keep from trembling so much. He was fucking cold, but he had to suck it up. This wasn’t anything compared to climbing the side of mountain on Kodiak Island in wet clothes.

_Crunch._

Steve forced his body to remain still. People were whispering in Pashto. 

He counted three distinct voices. Steve heard a surprised groan followed by a scuffle.

With a flurry of energy, Steve shoved the rocks away and sat up. Swinging his SIG from left to right, he spotted a man on the ground. Dead. 

Joe was off to the side and struggling with another soldier, the two vying over Joe’s knife as a third solider aimed his rifle at Joe’s back.

Steve pulled the trigger twice. The SIG’s report was a thunderclap in the night.

His whole body pumped with adrenaline, but Steve kept his arm straight, his aim true.

Joe turned around held his hands up. “It’s okay son, you can lower your weapon.”

But all Steve could do was focus on his breathing, searching for additional movement.

“Stand down, Lieutenant.”

On instinct, Steve let his arm drop, obeying the command. He needed to lie down, but the world started spinning and he was overwhelmed with sudden bout of nausea. Turning on his side, Steve dry-heaved into the dirt, his stomach twisting into knots.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it in comfort. Joe moved within his line of sight and picked up Steve’s weapon, securing it behind his back. 

Steve’s whole body trembled. 

“Here, take this.” Joe supported Steve’s head with one hand and held his canteen so he could drink. “Just a few sips.”

Steve swallowed greedily. Then he moved the canteen away from his mouth as the ground continued spinning. He closed his eyes and groaned in frustration. 

“It’ll pass in a few minutes; it’s just an adrenalin dump.”

But Steve knew anyone in a several mile radius would have heard those gunshots. He might as well have painted a target on their backs. They needed to move. _Now._

Spitting on the ground, he pushed up with his arms, growling with the effort. Joe helped him to his feet, taking Steve’s arm and wrapping his own around Steve’s waist. “I’ve got ya.”

“Did you…get a signal out?”

“I did. Now that you got some beauty rest, we have to get to the extraction point. It’s twenty reps of fifty. You ready?”

Digging his fingers into Joe’s shoulder, Steve breathed in for four seconds then breathed out. Just like before. “I’m ready,” he said, channeling all of his remaining energy.

***  
**2018**

As soon as he took one breath, it felt like he had to take another. Steve tried calming his racing heart, counting to four, but it was hard to combat against biology. 

Danny was on his hands and knees beside him as he was hit by another bout of coughing, the dry hacking sounds reminiscent of a lifelong smoker.

Steve pressed the talk button again. He’d been trying to reach their captors, offering tidbits of information, but he couldn’t give them what he didn’t have. 

Then why not reach higher? Offer a prize they couldn’t resist.

Steve opened his mouth to speak, but it triggered his out bout of wheezing. And at the end of each cough was a whistling sound from his closing airways. 

“I…know…about…the feud between Shekau and Musab al-Barnawi….” 

Danny was on his hands and knees, his head bowed. 

Steve scrambled to his feet to help him. “Come on buddy…come on….” 

Danny needed to be upright to make easier to draw air into his lungs. It was like a drunken dance, but Steve was able to support Danny enough, guiding him over until his shoulders hit the wall, ensuring he was sitting up.

But Danny reached over and grabbed Steve’s arm in an iron grip that would leave a massive bruise. He didn’t say anything, he didn’t need to. His fear was written in his eyes as he struggled for air between his lips.

Steve grabbed the radio where he’d dropped it. His own chest felt like it was burning from the inside. “Joe…told me…told me….” 

_“He told you…what?”_ Collins demanded.

Steve sucked in a wheezing breath and this time he forced the next bout of coughing – right into the radio.

_“What did White tell you?”_

Steve ignored the demand. There was a huge internal feud between Abubakar Shekau, the leader of Boko Haram, and Abu Musab al-Barnawi, one of the main leaders of ISIS in Africa. 

Steve looked over at Danny and rested a hand along his face. “Just…a little longer.”

Danny’s eyes were bloodshot, his face pale, cheeks bright red. He nodded, his trust in Steve implicit. 

_“McGarrett!”_ Collins growled over the radio. _“I’ll let you two pass out and pump the room all over again.”_

“Then you’ll never find out…about the operation…to expand into Cameroon and Niger.”

Because that was what this was about. Money meant expansion, increasing power. 

Pressing a hand to his chest, Steve sat next to Danny, shoulder to shoulder. He took careful, measured breaths, the inside of his throat felt like it’d been scrubbed raw. 

“They’ll come,” Steve tried to reassure Danny. “And when they do –”

“Stop talking,” Danny wheezed.

“Roger that.”

Steve gripped the radio in his right hand waiting for a sign that his plan had worked that he’d baited the bad guys into coming inside to interrogate him. But it remained silent. 

He glared at it, willing his plan to work, his arm shaking from the strain. Steve felt movement beside him as Danny reached over and took Steve’s free hand into his and held onto it. 

***  
**2003**

“Where was the…extraction point…again?” Steve asked. After over an hour, he was moving on pure adrenaline.

Joe didn’t answer.

The morning sun beat down on Steve’s back. The terrain was getting rougher. They clambered over hills and random inclines and navigated around dry, rough vegetation. Steve almost tripped over some dead brush.

Every time Steve’s legs stopped moving and he started submitting to the pain, Joe was there.

“On your feet, Lieutenant.”

“Yes, sir,” Steve mumbled.

And when Steve was so bleary-eyed he couldn’t see straight, Joe took more of his weight and mustered him forward. 

A bullet whizzed by Steve’s shoulder. Then a second one. A group of soldiers were climbing up the ridge after them….

“Move it!” Joe ordered. 

Steve fucking hobbled. He leaned on trees and boulders, on Joe’s shoulders. 

_Rat-a-tat. Rat-a-tat. Rat-a-tat._

“They’re out of range,” Joe said. 

But the enemy was gaining on them; Steve could hear them shout at each other to go faster. 

Steve panted for air, his leg and chest screaming at him. His boots scrambling against the dirt. He ducked under a tree branch, falling on his ass in the grass when he lacked the strength to stand again.

The voices were getting louder.

Joe looked back, stopping. “We can’t outrun them. We’re going to stop here and try to hold them off until the chopper arrives. It should be here in a few minutes.”

“Joe, there’s twenty of them and two of us. We’re gonna be dead in a few minutes.”

“We’re not dying today, son.”

Steve was out of gas, he wasn’t even sure he could stand again. But Joe’s determination, his never-back-down attitude was energizing. They were SEALs; they were trained for this. Steve wouldn’t let his CO down. His friend.

If he had even an ounce of fight left in him, he’d stand beside Joe. 

“I want you to promise me something,” Joe said. “I want you to visit your dad and I don’t want to hear you say no, either. You have one father and despite what you might think, that man loves you.”

Steve thought didn’t have anyone back home and up until today, he’d been okay with that. But now…maybe he’d been wrong.

“Okay, Joe. Okay.”

Steve aimed and fired. Aimed and fired. 

Every enemy movement was met with a pull of the trigger while Joe covered him with his stolen M4.

Bullets struck the trees, the dirt. One whizzed by Steve’s ear. In the middle of the firefight, Steve heard the rotor blades of a helo.

“Go! I’ll hold them off,” Joe shouted.

The clip in Steve’s weapon was empty. “Not without you!”

Wind and dirt began swirling from the approaching helo. Joe grabbed Steve by the arm. “Fall back!”

The air filled with the sound from a M27 machine gun. Steve couldn’t hear a thing above the cacophony of ammunition, rotor blades, and the blood rushing in his ears—

 

***

The room started to spin and Steve fought between throwing up and hacking. Their captors hadn’t radioed. Fuck, what did they want? Steve dangled a good carrot about the rivalry of the two main terror cells in Nigeria. But it hadn’t been enough to lure them inside.

Danny made wheezing sounds when he breathed, squeezing Steve’s hand hard enough to break bones. But Steve didn’t say a word, didn’t complain; he’d be an anchor for Danny no matter what.

And the longer Steve sat there listening to Danny struggle for air, the angrier he became. 

He stared at the one thing keeping them from freedom. A fucking door.

Steve had faced seemingly insurmountable odds as a SEAL. And as a member of Five-O, he’d faced bombs, torture, massive biological attacks. And he’d faced them all with the man beside him.

Why the fuck wasn’t he doing everything in his power to get them the hell out of here? Steve squeezed his burning eyes, ignoring the vertigo and light headedness.

Terror cells funneled money from kidnappings and fundraising into their operations. But in Nigeria, they got most of their funds from corrupt government officials. A country rich in oil. 

What could Joe know...what could be so important?

He brought the radio up to his mouth, his breath hitching from the inflammation in his throat. “Reaper…had a secret account. They embezzled funds from the regional oil company, _Shell Nigeria_ …keeping them from….”

Steve waited, focusing on his breaths. The ploy was complete bullshit, but their captors had no one of knowing that.

 _“Keep going,”_ Collins said over the radio.

It was now or never. 

Steve nudged Danny, holding up the radio. Danny stared at him like he’d lost his mind, but only Danny could understand what Steve wanted.

Danny grabbed the walkie talkie from Steve. “This is so dumb,” he told him.

Squeezing the talk button, Danny rasped into it with a panicked, strained voice. “I need help! God damn it, he’s not breathing!”

Danny coughed a horrible, long jag, his breath hitching as he tried recovering from yelling. Steve ran a soothing hand between Danny’s shoulder blades.

_“Put McGarrett back on the radio!”_

“I can’t if he’s fucking dying!” Danny yelled back.

Steve scrambled onto his hands and knees. If Collins fell for this, they needed to be ready.

Using the wall for support, Steve wavered to his feet, the room tilting sideways. He pressed his forehead against the plaster, waiting for the dizziness to pass. 

Once it felt like he wasn’t going to keel over, he held out his hand. Danny grabbed Steve’s arm and Steve hauled him to his feet.

“I’m going to puke,” Danny said between gasps.

“We only have one shot at this.” 

Black dots filled his vision and it felt like he was falling again. Steve felt hands on his arms, his shoulders, and Danny’s weight against his. 

“I’ve got you,” Danny said in his ear. 

But Danny stumbled a second later and Steve wrapped both arms around him. They were each holding the other up.

Steve’s vision began to take on a bluish tint when he heard the door start to open. He tapped Danny’s shoulder, using the same practiced signal for breeching a room.

Steve waited until a blurry figure entered. With Danny’s hand on his back, they rushed the door.

Steve slammed his shoulder into the man’s chest, uncontrolled momentum sending both sprawling onto the floor into the hallway. 

Steve was on top of his assailant. Collins still had a gun and he aimed it at Steve.

Danny kicked the Glock out of Collins’ grip, the weapon clattering across the linoleum.

Steve saw a blur of movement out of the corner of his eye. “Danny, get down!”

The hallway filled with the sound of gunfire. 

Splitting his attention between Danny and Collins was a mistake. Collins grabbed the front of Steve’s shirt with one hand and slammed his fist into Steve’s jaw. Then his face. 

Stunned, Steve retaliated with elbow strikes, blindly aiming them at Collins’ head. 

But the exertion triggered another coughing fit. It left him prone. Collins head butted Steve, then kneed him the ribs. Pain lanced up his chest, stealing Steve’s ability to breathe. Defenseless, Collins shoved Steve away, sending him onto his side. 

Struggling, Steve watched as Collins staggered to his feet, blood dripping down his chin. 

Collins scanned the floor. Steve followed his gaze, searching for the gun. Collins must have spotted it because he started running toward a corner.

Steve kicked out with his leg, sending Collins crashing back to the floor.

Danny, where was Danny? Steve spotted Danny wavering on his feet at the other end of the corridor. A second man with blood pouring from his nose also struggled to stay upright, the M4 he’d been carrying earlier nowhere in sight.

But Steve was caught in a race for Collins’ weapon as he crawled toward the Glock that lay six feet away. 

Steve’s fingers brushed over the Glock, but Collins jumped on top of Steve in his struggle to wrestle it away. Collins pressed his forearm into the side of Steve’s throat while grappling for control of the weapon.

Steve wheezed for air, his grip for the gun loosening. Fuck. Collins pressed all his weight against Steve while reaching over with his left hand. 

Steve felt the Glock ripped from his fingers. His thoughts were starting to fade. He needed to help Danny.

Collins pushed off Steve and clamored to his feet. Steve rolled on this back and crabbed backward until he felt a wall behind him as Collins aimed the Glock at him. 

_Rat ta tat tat._

Steve flinched at the sound, but he didn’t feel the heat of any bullets enter him. Collins’s whole body on the other hand jerked and collapsed in a heap. 

Danny stood over Collins, the M4 unsteady in his hands. Once it was obvious that Collins was dead, Danny lowered the weapon, the rifle sliding out his fingers as he doubled over from a coughing fit.

“Danny!” Steve struggled to get to his feet.

Danny took two steps toward Steve and went to his knees. Steve reached over and grabbed Danny’s shoulder. “Hey.” 

Waving him off, Danny did an about face and slumped against the wall beside Steve. Leaning his head against the wall, he groaned. “It feels like…someone shoved a scrub brush down my throat.”

Shaking from adrenaline Steve, slumped besides Danny. “Breathing regular oxygen…should help.”

“You sound like you’ve got emphysema.” Danny patted at Steve arm, at his chest. “Are you okay?”

Steve was pretty sure he had a broken rib now and a hospital stay was in their immediate future.

But they were both alive. Alive and breathing. Steve clutched Danny’s hand. “I will be.”

“You sure?”

Steve pressed Danny’s hand against his racing heart and held it there. “Yeah.”

***  
**Landstuhl, Regional Medical Center**

Steve stared at the ceiling. He wasn’t sure for how long; minutes became hours, his thoughts like taffy. Nurses entered and exited his room. Steve spoke to them, or at least he thought he did. He couldn’t remember. 

It felt like he’d been here for days, although Steve wasn’t even sure where _here_ was. The sound of folding paper caught his attention.

Craning his neck to the side took an enormous amount of effort. He was surprised to find Joe sitting in a chair next to his bed. “H-how…long?”

Joe put down a newspaper. “I’ve been here about an hour.”

Steve stared at him in confusion because his CO had not been there a few seconds ago. 

“They lowered your dose of morphine this morning, but it’s going to take a while before you’re clear-headed.” 

Joe was dressed in fatigues. He sported healing gash above his right eye but didn’t look worse for wear. 

“You’re going to be fine. You were dehydrated, not to mention few quarts low of blood. That would be one of the reasons why you feel like you got hit by a truck. Not to mention surgery and the busted leg.”

It took a moment before Steve realized that his lower leg was in a cast and propped up on several pillows. His gaze drifted to bandage covering the front part of his shoulder, the IV in his arm, the BP cuff, the oxygen he breathed.

The last time Steve had ever been in an ER was for a fractured wrist in middle school. He’d had his fair share of minor injuries during SEAL training, bruised ribs and a concussion. But this was the first time he’d ever had anything requiring hospitalization. It was surreal.

Joe told him about the exfil, how they went from a field hospital in Kandahar to Rammstein. Joe’s voice was a drone of words as Steve’s brain finally caught up to the meaning of his current condition. Dread filled his chest. “When can I return to duty?” 

“Best case scenario: two months.”

“That long?” Dread became panic. What would happen to him? “And Musa Asadi?”

“We’re still trying to track his whereabouts. One of my contacts has some intel on the man financing him. Could prove a useful lead.”

Steve tried sitting up in bed, but he felt trapped by lines and his own immobility. Frustrated, he stared at Joe. “What can I do?”

“Steve. You were shot during a HAHO jump. You sustained serious injuries. In a couple of days, you’re being transferred to Tripler for rehab.” Joe leaned over and laid a hand on his arm. “You’re going home.”

***

Steve sucked in a stuttering breath. His chest burned and his throat spasmed.

“Hey, hey, take it easy.”

It took Steve a moment to recognize Danny’s voice, feel Danny’s hand on his back, helping him to sit up in bed. 

“Hey, look at me,” Danny said. “You with me?”

The fog in Steve’s head started to clear and he took in the sheets of the bed, Danny’s wrinkled brow, his worried eyes. Right. They were no longer at Tripler. They were safe. “Yeah. Sorry. I…I just…,” Steve intertwined his fingers with Danny’s. “I’m good.”

“You are a poor excuse of a liar.”

Danny was right. He was a liar, and he wasn’t all right he just…. Steve kissed Danny’s hand. “I need to get up.”

Pulling back the sheets, Steve swung his legs around and stood on his bare feet. His heart was still pounding.

“Where are you going? We were just released from the hospital this afternoon with strict orders for bed rest. Hey! Did you forget we gassed with ozone two days ago?”

But Steve needed to move. His chest hurt, his throat felt raw, but he left the bedroom and went downstairs. He needed fresh air.

Pulling open the sliding glass door, Steve walked out onto the lanai, the night air cool on his face. 

“Will you just hold up a second?” Danny grabbed Steve’s elbow. “Hey, stop it.”

Steve obeyed. 

Danny walked until he stood in front of him, his hand moving until it settled on Steve’s arm. “You okay? What’s going on?”

Danny was only wearing his boxers. Belatedly, Steve realized he was also only standing only in his shorts. It was a warm night though. 

“I’m sorry. I don’t remember. I was just suddenly filled with this sense of…. Terror.” Steve took Danny’s hand. “I’m sorry for freaking you out.”

“Hey, we both almost asphyxiated in a locked room with no doors.” Danny rubbed at his throat, an unconscious tic he’d picked up since their escape. “Believe me, I understand panic.”

Danny was still a bit pale from their ordeal and a day in the hospital. After numerous tests, it was determined their exposure to ozone would not cause permanent damage, if they completed several weeks of in-home breathing exercises and used special inhalers. 

Steve squeezed Danny’s hand, grounding himself, gathering his anxious thoughts and pushing them away. He looked up at the night sky and breathed. “Did I ever tell you about _Hanaiakamalama_?”

***  
After only a few hours inside his father’s house Steve felt he needed to move. Hobbling with his crutches, he went outside onto the lanai and froze after a few steps. He remembered the last time he’s stood here, exhausted from not being able to sleep the night before, tears drying on his face. 

He’d left for the Army and Navy Academy on a Friday. It felt like a lifetime ago. 

His dad looked over at Steve as he prepared a couple of steaks on the grill. “Glad to see you up and about. You must be experiencing some crazy jetlag.”

Steve didn’t even know what day it was. “Yeah.” 

The grill sizzled as his father flipped over the meat. “You look more rested.” He smiled as he studied Steve. “Sorry, I didn’t have time to buy you new clothes. I, um, don’t know your size now.”

His old high school football shirt felt like someone else’s. Steve looked over at the waves lapping the beach, then further at the disappearing horizon. 

Crutching to the table his father had set up outside, Steve slumped into one of the chairs. His shoulder ached from the strain of using his crutches and his leg reminded him it’d been a few hours since his last pain pill. He stared at the laptop Steve had asked his father to bring outside.

“Steaks are ready.” Dad brought a couple of plates over and sat down. “You like them rare, right?”

“Um, medium, but rare is fine.”

“I can put them back on the grill.”

“No. Eat first. My stomach’s still off from my meds.”

His father started cutting up his steak and they settled into small talk about football, the latest neighborhood gossip. HPD’s recent caseload.

Steve opened his laptop and looked through his email as their conversation dwindled down. Scrolling through his backlog, he noticed something from Joe. 

“Look,” his father began, regret filling his voice. “I was really hoping to take some time off and hang out. But I’ve been knee deep in this case with the Triad for months. I feel like it might crack wide open soon.”

Steve looked up from his screen and pushed down a small flare of disappointment. “Coming here wasn’t exactly planned. I know you have a job to do.”

Following the email’s instructions, Steve logged into the secure server for JSOC, entering several authorization codes and getting onto a classified portal. 

“Anyway, I’m sure you’ll have some leave after your rehab. Maybe when you’re back on your feet we could go see the petroglyphs. It’s been ages since we hiked up there.”

Steve scanned the name of the attached files. _Intelligence package. Subjects. Victor and Anton Hesse._

These people were probably Joe’s leads for financing Musa Asadi. 

Steve looked at the case files his father had set beside his dinner plate then back at his email attachment. “I’m not sure how much leave I’ll have remaining once I’m fit to return to duty.” 

And now that he had a lead, Steve could work from Pearl-Hickman in between PT sessions. He could still be of some use.

“I’m sure we’ll figure something out. We have plenty of time.” His father stood up and gathered their dirty plates and paused. “It’s supposed to rain later. Guess we’re going to miss a meteor shower tonight.”

Steve stopped scanning the files in front of him and looked up at the sky and watched as the storm clouds rolled in --

***

“So, what’s _Hanaiakamalama_?” Danny asked.

It took a moment for Steve to break away from his thoughts. “What?”

“ _Hanaiakamalama_.” Danny waved at the stars. “You were going to bestow upon me some wisdom.”

Steve grinned. “That’s really good pronunciation.”

“Hey, how long have I lived here?”

Beaming, Steve looked between Danny and the moonlit night. “In Polynesian culture, ancient people used _Hanaiakamalama_ to guide their way home. But modern people call it the Southern Cross.”

“Like the song.” Steve stared at Danny and Danny rolled his eyes. “Oh, please. I helped Grace with this one day for school. It’s made up of four stars. They’re all equally segmented so they’re good for using as coordinates.” 

“Yeah, it sets right above _Alpha Centauri._ Ancient sailors used it for ocean navigation, but now, it can’t even be seen from the mainland.” Steve gazed fondly up at it. “If you could find the Cross then you could always use it to locate the Islands.”

“Like the North Star.”

Steve beamed at Danny. “In fact, the Cross leads to the North Star. My dad said if I ever looked up and saw _Hanaiakamalama_ , I knew I was….” All the hair stood up on his arms. 

Danny stood closer to him, his voice hushed. “You knew you were what?”

Steve’s heart thumped against his breastbone. “That I was home.” 

“You’re entering goofy marshmallow mode. I can tell because you’re eyes just got wispy and you’re grinning like an idiot.”

“Oh, am I?”

“Yes, you are.” Danny wrapped his arms around Steve’s shoulders. “But I will bestow some of my own wisdom. See, you don’t need ancient star charts of little points in the sky to know you’re home.”

“Oh, I don’t? So, if I ever get lost, how would I find my way back?”

“Well, a) I doubt you could ever get lost, and b), just close your eyes.”

Smiling, Steve closed his eyes. He felt Danny take Steve’s hand and place it over Danny’s chest, right over his beating heart. Steve stiffened, his hand trembling over Danny’s chest.

“I have and always will bring you back home. Because, I hope you know anywhere you are in the world, I’ll be by your side. Forever.”

Steve brought his hands to each side of Danny’s face and kissed him with reverence. Cradling Danny’s head, Steve kissed him again, deep and slow and loving. Because Danny had and would always be was his true north. 

Danny looped his arms around Steve’s waist. Pulling away, he gasped for breath, coughing. “Only you…would engage in Olympic kissing after our lungs were stir-fried.”

“Yeah, well. I’m making up for the last day or so.”

“Speaking of, are we going to Pearl tomorrow to see the latest on the bastards who ruined our weekend?”

Steve first instinct was yes, but he looked up at _Hanaiakamalama_ , at four bright points in the sky, then back at Danny. “Tomorrow is Sunday. I saw we take a day or two.”

“Are you sure? It’s not like you to avoid going after people who have tried to kill us.”

“Not avoiding, just enjoying the here and now.”

It was Danny’s turn to beam. “Then let’s go back to bed. We deserve some Sunday morning languishing.”

Steve leaned over and kissed Danny again. “Yes. Yes, we do.”

***

Fini-


End file.
